The King of Nothing
by Goldbryn Callow Lyte
Summary: Turbo wakes up after the battle for Sugar Rush. Unfortunately he has no memory of what happened, where he is, or even who he is. He runs into some trouble when seeking answers and eventually ends up finding something else has survived...something that will turn everyone's world upside down...especially his own.
1. Chapter 1

This is chapter 1…Turbo wakes up in a strange place, unable to remember ANYTHING. Also…eventual slash…please don't hate me…don't read if that's gonna weird you out. More on the pairing later—it'll prolly just be a big ol surprise to y'all.

Let's start this mofo!

-v—v-

On the far outskirts of Diet Cola Mountain, there was something happening that would definitely cause an uproar (at the very LEAST confused murmurings) had anyone actually been there to witness it.

The game had been reset, the damage was fixed, tracks were being returned to normal. The mentos had returned to the way they were, and the world itself look shiny and new. But while a small princess was getting her time in the spotlight, and the whole of Sugar Rush got back stolen memories, a ripple began that no one was there to see.

It started as just a blip of glitchy pixels, but soon grew to be a decent sized tear into the world itself—then with a scratchy, jumbled tone, something materialized on the ground—a body splayed out in the dirt like he had fallen from a great height.

It was Turbo.

But how? How had he survived when his death was so absolute—so definitive? He died outside of his game! The whole of Sugar Rush had watched his mutated form fly into the glowing beacon of diet cola; saw him disappear with a strangle scream. So how was it that he lay here in the sandy chocolate, amongst the gum drops and sprinkles?

It was simple.

He had altered his code so greatly by becoming King Candy, that at his very core, he was now a permanent member of Sugar Rush. Having taken over an unused sprite model, he made it very easy for the game to just accept him as one of its own.

So while he did in fact die, it seems as though his basic code was respawned just as any other racer or npc would respawn in their game.

Only now he was just Turbo…at least that's who he's supposed to be. With the changes he made to his most basic of code, the respawn might have done more harm than good


	2. Chapter 2

The darkness was so inviting. He could definitely stay here forever. Everything was perfect…there was nothing that could go wrong here.

That was until the pain kicked in. It was a low throb deep in his belly and it caused him to stir uncomfortably, the darkness losing its allure and becoming more of an annoyance. He felt the low ache spread across his body as his mind became more aware of it.

What had happened? It felt like he had been hit by something big and heavy.

Moaning against clenched teeth, he forced himself into a seated position before slowly cracking open his eyes.

The colors that assaulted him, and the bright sky and tree line, made him slap his hands over his eyes in the hopes of preventing blindness.

Blinking rapidly behind his hands, he slowly took them from his face and cast a bleary glance around his surroundings.

Where was he? Turbo blinked in confusion. How did he get here? His heart raced as his mind searched desperately for answers.

But despite his best effort, nothing came—and that's when it hit him—he couldn't tell himself who he was let alone what could have brought him here.

He began to hyperventilate, hands scrabbling in the chocolate dirt in the hopes of helping lift himself to his feet. He wobbled and fell to the ground again. "Oh code, oh code, oh code." He repeatedly gasped in between heaving breaths. "this is so bad. So very VERY bad."

He pushed himself to his feet again and leaned against a nearby structure in the hopes of keeping his balance this time. He cast a new gaze around him and realized how far removed he was from anything his code said should be normal. Everything was sticky and sweet—all of it had a sugar coating that glistened in that annoying sunlight.

He moaned as a wave of dizziness hit him. What had happened!? He tried again to pull some sort of memory out of the recesses of his mind but came up empty. He didn't even know his own glitching _name_! He pressed his palms against his face, digging the heels of his hands into his eyes until he saw small bursts of color. It was at this moment that his fingers brushed against something on his head.

Running his fingers up, he encountered what felt like hard plastic and padding. Realizing it was helmet, he pulled it off to examine it. It was a driving helmet right? Yes, that felt right…and it obviously meant something. He cast his gaze down to his clothing. It was a matching white and red jumpsuit—a driving suit! His breathing quickened as his brain fired off ideas and scenarios. Was he a racer? A pilot? What did he drive?! He closed his eyes, holding his helmet hard against his chest.

Maybe if he thought hard enough—THERE! Crowds cheering, a cup, a matching white and red car with a red "T" on the hood. He opened his eyes, looking at his helmet. "Just like you," He said almost conversationally as his grey fingers traced over the red letter. "But what do you mean!?" he grumbled out, sighing exasperatedly. He chucked the helmet to the side and slid down the large gumdrop that had held him up, not even caring that the sugar crystals scratched down his back.

Covering his face with his hands, he dropped his head between his knees. He couldn't stay like this forever. He HAD to get up, get moving—if he wanted any answers, this was his only option.

He grumbled against his hands, pulling them once again from his face.

The weird pain and sensations that he had felt when he first awoke were all but gone now, but he still felt a bit dizzy. Regardless, he forced himself to get up. If he wanted answers, he'd have to go find them.

Wiping the dusty chocolate from his suit and grimacing when some of it stuck annoyingly to the sweat on his hands, he trudged over to his discarded helmet and snatched it up.

Without even thinking, he went to shove it back on his head, a muscle memory that seemed to be written in his code—but something caught his eye.

Bringing the helmet up to his face so he could inspect the inside better, he noticed there was something stitched into the lining of the helmet's interior pads…a name? a brand? Whatever it was, it held more answers right now than his own memory did.

He ran his fingertips over the raised stitching, a weird churning in the pit of his stomach telling him that this _was_ important…this was no brand, no random tag…this _was_ his name.

His name—

"_Turbo…"_


	3. Chapter 3

It took him a lot longer to find the road than he had thought it would. There was a little while that he was sure he'd be lost forever in a never ending forest of brightly colored peppermint trees. Finally, though, he came to the edge of the trees and set his gaze upon a road of what looked like compressed chocolate dirt. Sighing in relief, he left the cover of the trees and started up the road.

It was a nice hill, and it took him a fair bit of his energy to make it up. Within the compressed dirt, he saw quite a few tire tracks, and he mused mentally how it would have been so much easier to scale the steep hill with a car. _His_ car; wherever that thing happened to be now. He shook his head. That was assuming, of course, that his deductions were correct and the flashes of broken memory he had had were in fact true, and not wishful thinking in a crisis.

He finally reached the very top of the hill and could not stop the gasp that fell from his lips.

The scene that was spread out before him was utterly breathtaking—even if it _was_ all sickly sweet candy. He never minded candy…at least he didn't think he did; but this amount, to this extreme, was already making his teeth hurt.

He looked out across this weird place that he had awoken in, and just let himself be awestruck by its vastness. There were tracks upon tracks themed with different candies and deserts. Then there was the main raceway, which extended through a few different candy terrains. That one looked like it was currently being used as he could make out the shapes of small cars speeding down the multicolor roads, and the undulating masses that he could only guess were the many fans of the current racers.

And there, in the center of this vast candyland, was a castle—A palace of icing and sprinkles. Surely there was someone there that could help him…maybe one of the racers!

Turbo steeled himself and started off down the winding path that would, hopefully, lead him to some answers.

-v-v-

This place was MASSIVE. He found himself transfixed by the constantly changing scenery; one minute he'd be walking beside a gorgeous lollipop field, then he'd be next to bubbling taffy pits. It was the weirdest sensation to feel like everything was familiar, but not remember or understand a single thing about it.

Candy…how did he end up somewhere with so much candy!? He looked back down at his suit with a frown. He was obviously NOT part of this game. The limited color palette, muted details, and neutral skin tone pointed to a much older game, and one MUCH less colorful. But no matter how many small things he deduced, it only continued to bring up more and more questions that he had no answers for.

It took much longer than he had planned for him to finally make a dent in his journey. The sounds of racecars had long since died away, and the large blaring voice-over that had been getting louder the closer he got, had quieted as well. He was almost certain that he'd not be able to find anyone once he came closer to the grand stand.

He was wrong.

As he passed a set of large, towering chocolate chunks, he found himself in the main center of the Sugar Rush game area. There were multiple roads leading off in every which way, and one main one that lead straight to the main center track.

The streets were bustling with small candy people. There were small taffy rolls, peppermints, candy corns, and chocolates, all of whom came up half way to his waist in height. There was a buzz amongst them all—and oddly enough they all seemed to be heading back towards the main track, paying no mind to the stranger that just wandered in from the wilds.

The phrase "qualifying race" kept being said and Turbo decided it was best to just follow them and see where all the hustle and bustle led.

A few of the candy people cast a wary glance at him, squinting their eyes up at him suspiciously as he came closer the groups shuffling into the stadium boxes.

He wanted to snap at them, bat them away, yell at them—anything that would get them to stop looking at him. Instead of causing a scene though, he simply slowed down and waited until he was near the back of the crowd.

While these candy folk looked sweet and genial, Turbo had this horrible feeling in his gut that something wasn't right.

Deciding he'd watch from the sidelines until he found someone he felt might be able to help him, he began to make his way around the large candy boxes that help the hundreds of candy fans for the race. Behind one of the large cartons, there was a stack of what looked like sheets. His glitching brain told him that these were the covers for the racecars before the big races. Smiling to himself for his genius, he snatched one off the top and wrapped himself in it. Even with his neutral palette, he knew he stood out like a pixeled thumb.

He pulled the sheet tighter around him and began scanning the crowds for someone that either looked familiar—_fat chance._ He brain supplied petulantly—or who looked like he could trust them.

Still not sure exactly who he was even looking for, he was so intent on watching the crowds from his hidden vantage points on the ground that he didn't even notice the bubbly group that came around the corner in front of him.

He noticed, of course, when he barreled into them. He hit something nearly unmovable, sturdy and solid, and went sprawling to the ground, the sheet completely blocking his view and making it impossible to get up gracefully.

"I'm so s-sorry," he stuttered out, trying to find his way from out under the sheet in desperation. "I didn't see you—" he was suddenly gripped through the sheet, by what he could only guess was a massive hand, and set on his feet.

"It's alright dude!" came a sugary sweet voice from beyond the sheet. She laughed again as Turbo continued to struggle to find the hem. "Aw come on guys, help the poor fella out!"

There was muffled chuckling, and he stilled so as to not hit anyone as they extracted him from his current imprisonment.

As the sheet came off, and the bright colors of the world hit him again, he closed his eyes in embarrassment, chuckling himself. "Thank you guys so much. I thought I was going to be stuck in there for—" He had opened his eyes to see who he was thanking only to find that they were all looking at him.

The smaller man, in his blue button up and jeans, was staring unabashedly at him, his eyes huge and his mouth hanging open. There was a taller woman there with unkempt blonde hair and…battle armor? She wore a similar look of surprise to the short man beside her.

But it was the other two faces that had him drift into silence and take an unconscious step backwards.

The larger than life character that he was sure he had run into, had a look of pure hatred on his round face, while the small girl (who he was sure sounded bright and bubbly not 10 seconds ago) has taken to hiding behind the behemoth's leg, looking scared and anxious.

"TURBO!" The larger man bellowed, clenching his fists hard enough that his knuckles cracked.

"S-So you know me?" Turbo asked softly, cowering under the shadow of this colossal man. He had no time to even think as those giant hands shot out and grabbed him.

It wasn't a grab that one would do to just subdue another person either…no, this one was meant to hurt. The large fingers wrapped around his shoulders and chest, meeting and behind him, while the thumbs pressed on either side of his throat.

"You got a big set of 0's coming back here Turbo." The tall woman said gruffly as she and the others came closer—now that he had been subdued. "Don't let him go, Ralph."

"No. Problem. Calhoun." He punctuated each pause with a near bone crushing squeeze.

Turbo cried out, struggling to get out of the behemoth's grip. "Please," he begged. "You're hurting me! Please let me go!" He tried to suck in a breath and found the hands were too tight to breathe comfortably.

"You're lucky I don't crush you right here." Ralph growled through gritted teeth.

Turbo's vision was blurring at the edges. He struggled harder. "I don't know what I d-did to d-deserve *gasp* this. Please," he sobbed openly now. "P-please, I can't breathe!"

Ralph brought him up to his eye level, glaring at him. Turbo tried to focus on at least one of the 3 Ralph-faces floating before him. "You're assuming I'm not doing that on purpose."

Turbo felt tears roll down his cheeks. It was going to end like this? No answers, no help—Just a crushing death?

His vision was going black, when he heard that sweet voice from earlier.

"Ralph, don't kill him." There was an audible scoff from Ralph.

"Vanellope!" He snapped angrily, but loosened his grip just enough to allow Turbo to breathe. "Are you forgetting what this piece of trash _did_!? What he tried to do to you?" The grip tightened momentarily and Turbo felt himself shake in panic.

"Please," he tried again, trying to get them to listen. "I don't remember what happened! I don't even know how I got here!"

"Likely story!" Ralph growled out. Calhoun was beside him at this, her high definition hand on Ralph's arm.

"Ralph," she cast a scowl over to Turbo before continuing. "Let's hear what he has to say." Ralph made a noise that clearly said he didn't agree, and tightened his grip again.

Turbo screamed, kicking frantically against the air in hopes of finding something he could connect with. He was panicking now. He'd hyperventilate, but he could no longer breathe.

There was yelling coming from the others, jostling as they tried to free him from the death grip he was in, but the fingers did not budge and the thumbs pressed even harder against his neck.

He was going to die.

But if this was how people reacted to him, did he really want to live?


	4. Chapter 4

I wanna apologize for the delay in posting…I have been going through a craptastic few weeks. I got super sick, had to pack and move out of my house, move to a new house (I'm a home and land owner now! Yay!), prepare for a craft fair/vendor show that I was co-hosting at the school I work at, unpacking, STILL beign sick, and then dealing with my students very needy needs in my class…I teach art btw so it's not wrong for me to get annoyed that I have to teach HIGHSCHOOLERS how to use a ruler properly. UHG!

Anyway. Thank you all so much for your support, your PM's, and your reviews/faves. This fanfic has a tumblr it's – who-am-i-turbo. Tumblr. Com only without all the spaces. You guys should know how URLs and tumblr works!

Go ask Turbo some junk! He's open to anons as well! 3

So yeah…on to the chapter. Warning for vomit. Just progressing the story a bit. Let me know what you all think. I LOVE reviews and PM's.

The world spun around him as he eyes slid open.

This time, upon waking, he was not assaulted with bright colors and blinding sunlight. No, this time, the world around him was grey and dark.

Turbo moaned pitifully, and found himself on the receiving end of a massive coughing fit. It felt like his lungs were on fire, and his throat was full of nails. Why-?

Oh. Right.

Ralph.

He brain supplied him with his truly spectacular failing at both finding answers AND making friends—not that he was really looking to make friends.

It just would have been nice to have found an ally.

Leaning his head against the wall, he realized his helmet had been removed. But why? He went to run his hands over his face, secretly scared they had done something to his hair; and not very certain why he even cared about that.

And that's when he noticed the chains.

He was chained to the wall with what looked like hard candy; GREEN hard candy at that. He lifted the heavy manacles and reached out as far as he could go. They were chained pretty close to the wall, but if he leaned his whole body over, he could at least touch his face and his hair…which, it seemed, had not been touched.

Thanking the user for small miracles, he decided that maybe he should use his time now to try and find a way out. _They _were not going to let him free, which he was certain of, so he needed a plan B. He pulled against the chains to no avail, tried to slip his hands from inside the cuffs (only to have the hard candy bite painfully into his wrists), and finally tried to pry the bolts from the wall that were holding the chains themselves.

Nothing budged. Whoever had put together this cell had made it inescapable. At this moment, he wished that his programmer had made him a ninja instead of a racer. Turbo the ninja—it had a nice ring to it.

He sighed in defeat, pressing his back against the wall. Every so often, he'd pull his wrists up and jangle the chains, listening to them clank dully against the equally hard walls, in the vain hope that maybe they suddenly came loose.

After a moment of just watching the dark wall, a light bulb went off in his memory lapsed mind. He snapped his head to look at the candy cuffs, grinning as the idea took shape.

They were hard candy cuffs. CANDY! Maybe he COULD get out of them.

Practically throwing himself to the floor on his side, he eyed the door warily as he pulled his wrists and the one cuff closer to his face. He was sure that as soon as he acted on his master plan, the door would fly open and he'd be caught. So with an eye on the door, he stuck his tongue out and gave the green cuff a lick.

Instantly his face screwed up in an almost painful pucker.

He shook off the near crippling grip the sudden sour had on his glands and waggled his tongue with a loud "Bllahhg!"

He HATED sour apple.

He smacked his lips and weighed his options, eyeing both the door and the glistening cuff in turn. He could keep at the cuff and he might eventually get free, OR he could stay cuffed and be at the mercy of whatever lay beyond that door…

That large fellow and that scary looking woman.

He shuddered at the thought of Ralph's hands back around his neck and decided that maybe sour candy was the least of his worries at the moment. He refused to even think past getting out of the cuffs. He had to take this one step at a time.

Sticking out his tongue again he began to lap at the cuff, eventually taking to chewing on the edges in the hopes that it would speed up the process. It took a little longer than he had planned, but the sticky, sickly sour candy began to slowly melt away, and he broke pieces of the weakened candy off with his teeth. The bigger pieces got spit out on the floor, but he kept going regardless, constantly thinking that it was just a big lollipop that he WANTED to be eating.

Realizing he was nearly through one part of the cuff, he stopped his licking and chewing, and began to tug at the offending sweet. The moisture had eventually weakened the cuff enough that, pulling as hard as he could, he could start to bend the candy away from his wrist.

With a few more almighty tugs, he heard a splintering 'CRACK' and his body pitched forward, catching painfully on the other cuffed wrist.

He lay there for a moment panting, before rolling over and sitting up to bring the last cuff to his face.

He was so engrossed in trying not to puke while he chewed manically at the final cuff, that he didn't hear the noises coming from outside the cell door or the door being softly unlocked and opened.

He did notice, however, when the door was slammed the rest of the way open.

"I KNEW IT!" Bellowed Ralph. Turbo's eyes flew open in panic, mouth tinted green and hanging open in obvious shock. He tried to scramble away, but the chain held him tight. Ralph growled and reached for the struggling Turbo, grabbing the front of his race suit and pulling him up so he was face to face with the wrecker, his arm twisted and pulling painfully against the sticky cuff..

The sudden lurch had Turbo's stomach flipping sickly, the sour candy he'd ingested not settling well.

"Ralph, take it easy." came that same saccharin voice as before. Turbo caught the small girl out of the corner of his eye (he was NOT about to take his full attention off the snarling brute in his face). She was standing beside that small handyman and the tall scary woman. He didn't think anyone else was there, but he wasn't sure as he was completely focused on Ralph's angry face.

"We can't even leave him alone for a few hours Vanellope!" Ralph snapped out, giving Turbo a good shake.

His stomach lurched.

"Ralph's right Vanellope." It was the handyman. "I think he might need higher security." The small girl sighed.

"I think we should listen to what he has to say for himself." She took a step closer to Ralph.

Turbo finally glanced down at her, giving her the most sincere face he could muster through the sheer fear that washed over him at the hands of Ralph. "I would really apprecia—"

"WHAT!?" Ralph bellowed again. "You don't have the RIGHT to explain yourself. We know why you're here; we know what you want." He shook Turbo again.

The racer felt his stomach kick, the back of his throat went lax, and his head went light and empty feeling. Oh no…

"please don't shake me—" he said softly as he put his free hand on Ralph's large, meaty hand. The large man looked incredulously at the grey appendage, over to the small child and handyman, then back at Turbo.

"Or what?" He sneered slightly and gave Turbo one more final shake.

And what happened next could not be blamed completely on Turbo. He _had_ warned the large man. He _had _tried his best to hold it back…even though it was his fault for eating those cuffs…and he did hate sour apple so very much.

It seemed that the only thing in Turbo's entire being was chewed up and dissolved green hard candy. With an almighty "huuurk." The contents of Turbo's stomach came up in a rush, and splattered messily down his front and Ralph's massive hands.

Ralph stood there, staring in disbelief as the sticky concoction of bile and candy trickled down his arms and elbows. Turbo looked even greyer if possible. He looked up at Ralph, shame written across his ashen face.

"I told you to not shake me." He said with a small lopsided grin. _Serves the oaf right! Serves him right for manhandling me so needlessly!_

Ralph's mouth opened and closed, but no words came out.

The only noise in the small cell was the obviously stifled giggles from Vanellope.

Ralph simply dropped the racer, who crumpled to a heap on the floor in his own sick.

"I-I.." Ralph slung his arms down angrily, splattering the hard surface of the floor with green sick. "I'm going to go take a shower. In battery acid." With that he pushed by Calhoun and Felix. "Calhoun," he turned around at the door, catching the tall blonde's stern gaze. "Do NOT let this guy out of your sight." He lowered his voice so Vanellope wouldn't hear. "Shoot him if you get the chance."

Sargent Tamora Calhoun nodded, but gave a look to Felix once Ralph was gone that clearly said she knew he was speaking out of anger, and that she would NOT be shooting anyone unless they _really_ deserved it. She knew how protective he was over the small princess (president!), and understood what he was going through.

Still…she looked over to the heap that was once the greatest racer in the arcade. A sad little grey man, covered in sticky vomit, and chained to a wall by the very people who foiled his master plans just days earlier.

There were too many questions that needed answering, and this 'Turbo' was going to be here long enough to answer them all.


End file.
